


Lovers and Madmen (Have Such Seething Brains)

by palavapeite



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: F/M, Fairies, M/M, Multi, a surprise offscreen threesome you did not see coming, love spells, nighttime shenanigans in the Starecross gardens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:49:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25428685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palavapeite/pseuds/palavapeite
Summary: One warm summer night, fairies visit Starecross Hall.Staff, visitors, and poor Mr Segundus are in for anembarrassingexciting night.
Relationships: John Childermass/John Segundus, Tom Levy/William Hadley-Bright
Comments: 39
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’m taking some liberties with fairies in the JSAMN universe here, but look, I am a simple woman; I see Gwendoline Christie as Titania in _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ , I need to write a silly love spell fic. I just wanted to have fun and be ridiculous, and go nuts on the footnotes instead of angsting about as I normally do. 
> 
> Thanks go to [BeautifulSoup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautifulSoup/pseuds/BeautifulSoup) for the beta and cheerleading!

“Oh, just you wait until I catch him! I will rain _hellfire_ upon his hide! Why, they shall be able to bind him into an actual book when I am through with him!” 

Segundus blinked his eyes open in confusion before squeezing them shut again, as tightly as he could, as though it might help him squeeze an understanding of the situation from his sluggish brain. 

He had fallen asleep at his desk. 

“Mrs Berry, please! We all know what he’s like, but be reasonable! He is hardly worth–” That was Charles’ voice, Segundus thought, and he frowned out the open window, through which the early night breeze carried up the voices of the Starecross manservant and Mrs Berry the cook. And indeed, sitting up a little straighter, he spied the white of Mrs Berry’s apron shining brightly in the dusk, along with Charles’ shirtsleeves. 

Casting a glance at the clock on his mantel, Segundus noted that it was not yet ten, and he could not have slept for more than half an hour. The sun had only just set. 

“Reasonable!” Mrs Berry sounded irate, and Segundus squinted, his eyes adjusting to see her storm off into the direction of the bushes with what he made out to be her largest wooden spoon clutched in her hand, and Charles hot on her heels. “The things he said about me! This vile, disgusting man, calling me a hag! A hag! Oh, I have suffered his insults long enough! If Mr Berry is not here to defend my honour, I shall do it myself, I… _oh!_ ” 

Segundus flinched at the shrillness of her pitch, suddenly mortified that she should wake Mrs Lennox and Mrs Blake, who had retired early just after supper to recoup from their strenuous journey all the way from Bath, and on a day as hot as this one had been. It would be inexcusable to disturb Starecross’ patroness in her much-deserved slumber, and Segundus hoped desperately that she had not left her windows open, though what were the chances, with the mild allure of a midsummer’s eve after a hot and sunny day, the warm evening air saturated with the sound of crickets and the rich scents from the Starecross gardens… 

...Segundus had climbed half on top of his desk to lean out of the window and – very ungentlemanly – hiss down at Charles to be quieter, when it struck him that Mrs Berry’s fury was not what had woken him, potent as it was in disturbing even Mr Berry in his sleep. (Mr Berry had – God rest his soul – been dead since 1794.) 

No indeed, looking at the soft shades of the bushes and trees outside, lush, dark pillows in the gathering darkness, softly illuminated by the last rays of the sun to one side, and the first pale light of the moon to the other, it hit Mr Segundus suddenly, like the first realisation of the degree of one’s drunkenness upon getting to one’s feet after long hours laughing and talking after dinner over too much wine. 

_Magic_. He had been awakened by the sudden, overwhelming sense of strong, powerful magic. 

Not the magic of students – they had all left the week before for their summer holidays –, not even the magic of his tutors, or Childermass, who, by all accounts, was as skilled with wild magic as one could find a magician in England these days. This, Segundus understood, was far beyond any English magician’s doing; it was vast and alive like the aether, filling every nook and cranny of the world and it was _there_. It radiated from every blade of grass, every fruit, root and petal in the Starecross gardens up to Mr Segundus, who was rendered immobilised by it, one knee up on his desk, the other on his chair, his hand gripped tight around the window latch. It was the most foreign thing he had ever sensed, and yet he knew exactly what it was. 

Fairy magic. 

The garden was awash with it, and Segundus had to haul himself off his desk and away from the window with some amount of force, to tear himself away and out of its thrall. 

Oh, no. 

“Charles! Mrs Berry!” 

The grass was soft beneath his feet as he hurried out of the kitchen door and past the herb and flowerbeds towards the labyrinth of bushes and trees.[1] As he passed them, the comforting scent of herbs filled his nose and his mind, and the residual heat from the day wrapped itself around his shoulders like a comforting blanket. 

“Mrs Berry! Charles!” 

He thought, absently, that it was rather reckless to be walking out into the gardens when there might be a fairy about, but, he reminded himself, surely it was his responsibility as master of the household, and a magician at that, to make certain Mrs Berry and Charles, who knew naught of magic whatsoever, were not in danger of being abducted? How could he possibly look Mrs Lennox in the eye and explain that two of his servants had been abducted by fairies right under his nose, and that therefore there would be no breakfast, lunch, or dinner for the foreseeable future? 

It was thoughts like these that kept him going, pushing past luscious lilac trees and heady clouds of jasmine. The gardens seemed bigger to him than he remembered, but it had been a while since he had time to walk them at his leisure, and it shamed him to discover that there was an entire patch of brightly glowing lilies that he had never before seen, and that Mr Daffodil the gardener must have put a great deal of effort into creating and maintaining. 

Once or twice, he called for Charles and Mrs Berry, but neither of them answered and he could not make out either of their voices over the sound of crickets and the sleepy humming of bees. From some bush, a nightingale sang her song, and when she had finished, a starling responded with its beckoning trill. For a moment Segundus stood transfixed, listening. 

“I have _told_ you why… how many times will you ask me to spell it out for you, Henry...” 

“Miss Redruth?” Turning on the spot, Segundus tried to pinpoint the source of the voice, but he could neither spot the shape of her in the dim light, nor was there any telltale rustling of leaves, or sound of footsteps to indicate that someone was close. 

Perhaps he had imagined it, or perhaps her voice had carried over from the house. Miss Redruth was, by all accounts, if not the most reasonable or collected of Starecross’ tutors (she remained rather partial to the occasional fit of passion over His Grace, John Uskglass), at least the most dignified about her fancies, and – though Segundus shuddered to think of the implications this judgement contained for everyone else – by and large the most sensible.[2]

Casting a glance back over his shoulder, he realised he had walked further than he had anticipated; he could see nothing but bushes and trees, not a sign of Starecross’ roof beyond, even when he squinted.

In the dim moonlight, he looked up at the curtain of wisterias that marked the edge of the forest in front of which he stood, cascading clouds of soft purple against the deep green of the night. 

“Mrs Berry? Charles!” he called again, only a little irritated that they should have moved so far from the house, and in the dark of the night, of all things… Whoever Mrs Berry was so upset about – and he had a good guess who – must have worked his worst to drive a woman as gentle and good-natured as her to such distraction, and Segundus was determined to have words with him as soon as it was all over. 

The forest was dark, but Segundus found he could navigate it well enough once his eyes had adjusted. He let his hands run along the bark of trees as he moved between them, and jumped a runlet as he came across it, smiling up at the nightingale that sang somewhere above him. 

Despite the darkness, despite the fairy magic that hung in the air, Segundus could not help but think that it was a rather lovely summer night, one Yorkshire did not see many of. At his feet, white flowers shone brightly, like twinkling little lights along his path and–

“Oof! Oh, I–” 

The sudden collision with something – or rather, someone – warm and solid in his path tore through Segundus’ idle thoughts. Stepping back, he narrowed his eyes to make out the shape before him. It was huffing. 

“I– Mr Segundus?” 

“Mr Childermass! What–” Segundus took a moment to collect himself when he recognised Childermass’s voice. A moment later, a pale light cradled in Childermass’ palm illuminated the familiar twist of his face on the brink of his crooked smile. “Wha–what are you doing here?” 

“I am looking for Vinculus.” Childermass’ eyes darted around them. “He stole out of his room and is nowhere to be found in the house. I felt the magic approach and thought I must investigate, lest he run into trouble again–” 

“Oh, no!” Segundus exclaimed in dismay. “I fear he has, but rather in the form of Mrs Berry! It appears they fought most terribly and I believe she chased him into the gardens with a spoon in her hand…! Charles ran after her to– certainly they cannot have known of the magic!” 

“You witnessed all of this?” 

“From my window,” Segundus explained, blushing. “I had fallen asleep at my desk and woke just as Charles tried to dissuade Mrs Berry from giving chase– It was the magic that woke me!” 

This seemed to amuse Childermass, and his eyes twinkled in the low light. 

“When I was told you were hard at work in your private rooms, and not to be disturbed–” 

“Oh, Mr Childermass, had I known you would arrive!” Segundus exclaimed, mortified. “We had not expected you until tomorrow, and when Mrs Lennox wished to retire after dinner, so did all of us… You must know that I would never otherwise… Sir, I would never have considered you a disturbance! You, or… or any business of yours that you might have wanted to talk about...” 

“Well, admittedly, it was not at all about a business matter, so it could easily wait,” Childermass’ smile softened, and he stepped a little to the side. “But perhaps we should look for the lot of them together, then. Since that appears to be both our business, and two magicians are better than one.” 

Segundus sighed in happy relief and fell into step beside Childermass, smiling despite the – strictly speaking – rather dire situation. It did not seem so dire anymore, now that Childermass was there. 

“I hope I am right, then,” Childermass said with a sideways glance at him as they began to walk deeper into the trees, “in deducing that our early arrival will not present a nuisance to you? The housekeeper did not seem much fazed, but I was unaware you were hosting Mrs Lennox and her f–” 

“My dear Mr Childermass,” Segundus cut in, the eager flush of embarrassment crawling up his chest. “You _know_ – do you not? – that I would never consider you a nuisance! I welcome every one of your visits, and even if you were to appear altogether unannounced, I should still be glad for the occasion of your company.” 

He said this with so much emphatic vigour, that by the time he had finished, he was grateful for the low light, for the flush sat high upon his cheeks. Somewhat flustered, and rather mortified by Childermass’ silence, he cleared his throat. 

“But tell me, as I missed your arrival earlier – have your travels been successful? Are you satisfied with your journey to Shrewsbury?” 

“As successful and satisfied as anyone ever can be when Vinculus is involved,” Childermass replied dryly. “Truly, I cannot claim to have made any headway on the King’s Letters, though I have brought a gift I thought you might like. A much less contrary book for your school’s library – as it turned out, the book the inkeep used as a wedge to keep her kitchen window open was a reprint of Ruggenale’s _Ne is the earth the lesse_ [3] that she was happy to sell. The copy is somewhat battered, and it is missing about a dozen pages and smells faintly of onions, but it remains a worthy read.” 

Segundus stopped in his tracks for a moment. 

“Ruggenale!” He hurried to catch up to Childermass, who had not slowed. “But Mr Childermass, that is wonderful! Oh! Just two months ago I was sure I remembered a reference of his to a West Yorkshire song in relation to _The Faerie Queene_ that might be relevant – did I ever mention it to you? – and I thought I might have to travel down to Oxford to inspect the Bodleian copy, as I unfortunately appear to have mislaid my old notes, and now–” He exhaled with force, realising he was beginning to fall into the kind of rambling that had been observed (by others as much as himself) as “very typical” of him. He collected himself and deflated slightly. “But how can I possibly accept it? I would… I would certainly love to borrow it, and if you wished to sell it, I believe the school could obtain the funds, but surely the book is yours to keep, as you have found it in the fir–” 

“Mr Segundus.” Childermass interrupted, and he said his name so fondly, that for a moment, Segundus’ ears felt quite hot. “Must we go through this again? Where would I keep a book? In my saddlebags? It would fall apart within a month. There is one book I must travel with already, and just as that book, this one means nothing if I cannot share it with someone who would discuss it with me.” 

“But…!” 

“All the payment or reward I require is the prospect of it sitting in a library to which I am welcome to return – and not to mention the added perk of a bed I do not have to share with Vinculus while I am here, which you have always been most generous to bestow.” 

Segundus made a peculiar and complex sound that might have been described as something like “fond, dismissive affront” and was truly none of those things. Casting a furtive glance at Childermass as they walked, he said, after some moments, rather softly, 

“Then I can only thank you for your kindness and generosity, sir. Though…” he halted, “...though, please, I would not have you give me the indignity of your thanks for the room. It is yours, sir, and will be irrespective of any gifts of charity or lack thereof. I hope you know that I would never dream of depriving you of an undisturbed night of good, solitary sleep.” 

“Really?” Slowing his steps, Childermass lifted his hand as he turned to Segundus, and Segundus was unprepared for the directness of his gaze. “Never?” 

“I–” Segundus’ mouth was suddenly dry and he coughed, somewhat more theatrically than necessary, to cover up his flustered state. As he tried to think of something he could possibly say in response, his heart beating wildly in his chest, he was both devastated and relieved when he thought he heard a voice, and put his finger to his lips.

“Listen!” The voice was low and quiet, barely audible over the hum of the night air, gone as soon as it was there, but it was at the same time unmistakeable, and Segundus’ hand clasped around Childermass’. “It is coming from over there, I’m quite sure of it…!” 

Shining his little light ahead, Childermass nodded, his eyes alert as he let Segundus lead him along. Soon, the voice had become clearer, with the odd word or other now distinguishable, and it was only then that Segundus realised Childermass had not let go of his hand. Once he had become conscious of this fact, he found it was almost impossible to think of anything else, which in turn led him to not recognising the voice until little more than a lilac bush and some thickets separated them from the speaker. 

“...so, friends as we are, I should think it would be… I trust that, as we have been friends as much as colleagues, clearly we can agree– no.” The young man let out a deep sigh as he ran both hands through his dark, curly hair, cradling his head as he paced between a patch of hyacinths and a blackthorn hedge. “I daresay we both value our friendship more than… more than… uh. No. ...Listen, I merely wanted to tell you plainly that… that… I wanted to tell you plainly, and without any unnecessary fuss that you… that _I_ … that we... should...” 

“What is Levy doing here?” Segundus whispered, turning back to Childermass while a couple of steps away, Thomas Levy, generally the most well-spoken tutor at Starecross, began yet another fruitless hypothetical conversation with himself that started very decisively with “I saw you had a letter from your mother!” and then went nowhere from there. 

“I do not know,” Childermass whispered, leaning forward to glance past Segundus at the young man, and he was suddenly close enough for Segundus to feel his breath move the air. His own breath stuttered, and he found himself reeling all of a sudden, and as he tried to catch himself, a twig snapped beneath his feet. 

Tom Levy’s head twisted around, and he froze where he was. “Bill?” 

Segundus would have answered, or so he liked to think, had not Childermass’ arm wrapped around his waist to haul him back and prop him safely against the nearest tree. Head spinning, Segundus blinked at him, blinked again to adjust his vision to just how close they stood. 

“Are you alright? Segundus,” Childermass’ hand was clasped around his upper arm and shook him gently, as if to get his attention. Something moved in the forest not far away, but he could not quite seem to… 

“Yes,” Segundus replied softly, out of habit rather than because he was certain he truly was fine, and when Childermass looked intently at him, he ventured a smile, raising a hand between their bodies to rest against Childermass’ chest, feeling the weight of him as he leaned in. “I am fine, I am...” 

Childermass glanced down at Segundus’ hand, then back up at his face, something unspoken waiting just behind his eyes, ready, ready to come forth as they darted down to Segundus’ lips. 

“J–Childermass,” Segundus mouthed, his voice a whisper, and the world began to spin. “I am fine, do not worry, I am…” Their breath mingled, and Segundus’ hitched. “I am... fainting.”

***

When Segundus opened his eyes, he was momentarily astonished by an absence of pain, of some physical consequence of collapsing and (by necessity of gravity) hitting the ground uncomfortably with some part of his body before the others. For surely this was to be expected when one fainted – and if not, then he had a complaint to make about all the other times in his life he had picked himself up from the ground with a bump pounding away on some side of his head.

He found he was lying quite comfortably on soft, thick moss, and overhead, stars twinkled through a canopy of leaves. The coarse cry of a bird, too loud, too mocking, sounded from somewhere to his left, and when he turned his head to look, he saw her. 

She was unlike anything he had ever seen, standing tall and commanding, the night and dawn at her fingertips, her long hair radiating with an inner moonlight, casting a halo around her imposing form. Clad in a gown of everlasting summer twilight, she was of a beauty that Segundus found he had no frame of reference for. Neither awake nor dreaming had he ever conceived of anything like her. She was, and by that fact, so was beauty. 

He looked up at her profile from where he lay, incapable of anything other than beholding her in silent awe. On her shoulder, a starling chirped and trilled, and she hummed in response, a curious smile spreading across her face. At the incline of her head, the starling fluttered from her shoulder, and her smile took on a twist of mischief as she stooped, her hand reaching for the man who lay sleeping at her feet. On his chest, the starling cackled and laughed, and whistled, and warbled, and whirred, and magic spun itself around the moment. 

“What are you doing?” 

The words burst from Segundus’ lips even though he might have sworn that he had lost his speech, that all that should have come out of his mouth was butterflies and mist, evaporating instantly. Even now he thought he saw his words ascend into the treetops like bubbles of soap. 

The fairy lady’s head turned slowly, slowly as the tide, and her eyes were as the oceans, ancient and filled with horrors and stars. 

She cast a glance at Childermass who, in his sleep, sighed, and stepped over him to bear down on Segundus, who sighed too when she filled his vision with her glow. Under her gaze, he grew old and was young again, and when she smiled, he thought his bones would remember it long after he had ceased to be. 

“So you are the one.” Her lips, he thought, had not moved at all, but her voice was clear in his head, like the sound of wind rushing through the barley. Her hand cupped his cheek, and her eyes twinkled with the mischief of children, madmen, and gods. “Oh, but you are _delightful!_ ” 

_What does that mean_ , he wanted to ask, but could not, for the world could not just then host any other action but the pursing of her lips as she sent a kiss into the air and blew it softly down into his eyes.

***

“Segundus. Segundus!”

Segundus opened his eyes to the acute physical consequence of collapsing and (by necessity of gravity) hitting the ground uncomfortably with some part of his body before the others, which, in this particular case, happened to be his left knee and, to a lesser degree, the back of his head. Raising a hand to the latter, he groaned, blinking to bring the world back into focus. 

“Segundus!” 

The whole world was Childermass. Childermass, who was leaning over him, and gently shaking him back into himself. 

“What has happened?” Segundus breathed, gazing up at Childermass, who gasped with relief. 

Childermass, who lay half on top of him, and said, with soft wonder in his voice, 

“The moon shines brighter in your eyes than in the sky.” 

Childermass, who leaned down and kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 The term ‘labyrinth’ was often used (and remains a popular descriptor today), particularly by pupils of Starecross Hall in letters to their family, to describe the nature of the sizable gardens surrounding the house. This is factually incorrect; in 1888, the Association of Yorkshire Gardeners and the Royal Horticultural Society published a joint complaint in The Times pointing out this liberal misuse of the term ‘labyrinth’ and declaring the Starecross gardens to be ‘a nonsensical jungle [...] and no more than the work of a long line of deranged imbeciles lacking any form of aesthetic or spatial awareness’, further accusing Starecross of bringing down the good name of English gardeners everywhere. To the immense displeasure of the two societies, Starecross never responded to this accusation in any form whatsoever, nor did any other magical society or individual at the time comment on it; when asked about this incident in 1891, then newly appointed headmistress of Starecross Fanny Waghorn appeared ‘put out’ by the question and argued that magicians were so frequently engaged in all kinds of disagreements among themselves, they could not possibly be expected to pay attention to ‘something as banal as a quarrel over a terminological technicality among flower enthusiasts’.[return to text]
> 
> 2 It appears that despite Miss Redruth’s penchant for frequently putting this particular judgement to the test over her years at Starecross, this opinion of Mr Segundus’ regarding her character remained constant. In September 1844, shortly before his retirement from his active duties as headmaster, Mr Segundus elaborated on his letter to the Society of York Magicians concerning Charlotte Redruth’s promotion as his successor in a diary entry, expressing his displeasure at the continued resistance he faced in this decision by stating “[...] at the very least, if the girls’ dormitories ever did catch fire, get flooded, or temporarily displaced into Faerie, she never did suffer the indignity of my hearing of it.”[return to text]
> 
> 3 _Ne is the Earth the Lesse: a Collection of Essays_ by poet and scholar Erasmus Ruggenale (1563-1642), first published privately by his widow in late 1642. While strictly a work of literary criticism, this collection in particular gained popularity among scholars of magic in the early 18th century due to his in-depth discussion of fairy imagery in Elizabethan poetry and references to seemingly commonly-held beliefs with respect to the magic and temperament of fairies, and the station they are thus implied to have occupied in the mind of the people at the time. This renewed interest in his essays resulted in an unauthorised reprint of the work in 1723. It is the only work of Ruggenale to survive; it has since been debated whether, considering the lack of evidence, it is entirely justified to refer to him as a poet.[return to text]


	2. Chapter 2

Ethereally glowing fairy ladies were one thing, certainly, and Segundus would, he determined, put some time aside to think about her, but kissing Childermass – and he was, he was, he was kissing Childermass – was quite another matter, one that, Segundus realised, rather defied all notions of priority. 

Childermass’ lips were as soft as the ground beneath Segundus was hard, and his hand at Segundus’ side was as sure as Segundus himself was not entirely certain what was happening. Some part of him was convinced he must be dreaming still, that he would soon wake once again, to his true self and only the sensation of a throbbing bump at the back of his head, and he could not bear to lose a single moment of this dream that he had dreamt so many times before and that had always, always ended far too soon and inevitably turned into some nonsensical nighttime farce from which he woke up feeling hollow and confused. 

A moan escaped his throat when Childermass’ hand cradled his head where it had hit the ground before, and Childermass made a soft, soothing sound and sealed his lips again, never ceasing even as he helped Segundus sit upright. 

“John,” Segundus gasped against Childermass’ open mouth, frowning and laughing both, breathless with the moment. Cupping Childermass’ face in both hands, he– 

“Help! For goodness’ sake, someone _help!_ ” 

Segundus blinked. 

“That was Levy!” 

Scrambling to his feet, Segundus’ head was still spinning as they set off in the direction of the call, glad for Childermass’ hand in his, steadying him, providing an anchor of gravity while his vision and balance caught up. 

“Come on, Bill, wake up! Oh no, oh–Mr Segundus! Childermass! Please, won’t you...” 

Levy was on his knees beside the prone body of William Hadley-Bright, who was breathing, but appeared unconscious, a tear in the white sleeve of his shirt and dust staining his clothes. From the shallow cuts on his cheek, he appeared to have fallen into the blackberries, from which Levy had presumably pulled him if the purple-stained state of his hands was anything to go by. 

“He was calling out to me just when… when…” Levy began, frowning and clearly looking for words. “I... I must have fainted, and when I woke up I found him–Charlotte?” 

“Oh, what in heaven has happened…?” There was a rustling in the bushes, and a moment later, Miss Redruth came stumbling out of them, holding her head with both hands, her eyes squeezed tightly shut. “My _head…!_ ” 

“Miss Redruth!” Segundus addressed her, both severely irritated by how most of his teaching staff appeared to have been walking out in the gardens after sundown, and equally relieved to be finding them walking the gardens still, and not having been snatched away by a passing fairy. Miss Redruth stood as tall as always, and though there were some twigs stuck in her updo, she appeared unhurt. Her eyes blinked open. 

“Oh, Mr Segundus! _Mr Segundus!_ ” She staggered towards him, and Segundus was just about to start worrying that she had hit her head rather badly indeed to be so disoriented and talk quite at so high a pitch, but it so happened that it was in this moment that Hadley-Bright gasped and began to stir, his head moving from side to side. 

“Hadley-Bright,” Childermass said, in his typical tone that would have made a dead man pay attention. “You must wake up. Hadley-Bright, can you hear us?” 

“Bill, wake up!” Levy insisted, shifting a little away to give Hadley-Bright space to sit up, which he did, blinking unseeingly a couple of times, before his eyes found focus. 

“I am awake,” he said, and a sigh of relief went through Segundus, Levy, and Childermass as he scrambled to his feet. “So awake, I feel I shall never sleep again!” Shaking off Levy’s steadying hand, he took a step forward. “I could not bear to miss a moment spent in the presence of my goddess, my perfect, shining, golden lady…!” 

For her part, Miss Redruth, at whom all of this was addressed, looked as stunned as Segundus felt. Slowly, all his relief turned into dread trickling down the back of his neck. 

“Bill, what in...” she said, sounding bemused. “Sir, I must ask you quite vehemently to cease this farce!” 

“My queen resents me!” Hadley-Bright declared gloomily, clawing at his neck and falling right back to his knees. “Oh, sweet lady, bestow your disdain upon me then, if it be all that I shall ever receive from you! I shall receive it gladly, happily, if from your hand it be dealt!” 

Levy made a strangled sound, and Childermass shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. Segundus, for his part, stared in horror at the spectacle. 

“You are embarrassing yourself, sir, and embarrassing me, and Mr Segundus, and everyone else present!” Miss Redruth said sternly, her cheeks reddening, and she stepped back when Hadley-Bright approached her on his knees, arms spread wide to both sides. “My hand will deal you nothing! Nothing, you hear?”

“Then I shall lay my heart at your feet,” Hadley-Bright declared fiercely, and ripped open his waistcoat, buttons flying everywhere.[4] “So it may be trampled by your noble sole!” 

Watching as Hadley-Bright prostrated himself on the ground before Miss Redruth, Segundus resolved it was time to intervene. Whatever was going on – and he was certain something was indeed going on – it could not possibly and in good conscience be allowed to continue for the sake of everyone involved, least of all poor Miss Redruth–

“How can you presume to make such an offer!” she hissed down at Hadley-Bright just then, pulling her skirts out of his reach and backing away from him. “What foolish pride have you that you take liberty to appeal to my own heart thus, when my heart belongs only to one...” she broke off, clearly at her wits’ end and half sobbing, and Segundus took a step towards her to put a calming hand upon her elbow, when she turned towards him and declared, “...to good, handsome Mr Segundus!” 

“Miss–Miss _Redru_ –” Segundus began, cut off abruptly by a mouthful of curls and a twig poking him in the cheek as she threw himself into his arms and nearly knocked him off his feet. On the ground, Hadley-Bright was howling in agony and struggling to shake off Levy, who appeared locked into some futile attempt at pulling him back to his feet, while Segundus wrestled Miss Redruth with just as little success. Squealing with somewhat little dignity when one of her hands found a place to pinch, Segundus had never felt so relieved as when Childermass approached with an exasperated expression and systematically peeled the woman off of him. 

“Calm yourself, Miss,” he growled, with his characteristic manner of a storm cloud, though without much effect if the way he was required to physically put himself between Miss Redruth and Segundus to detain her was anything to go by. “You must see that Mr Segundus does not welcome your advances! Stand back, and consider the fool you are making of yourself!” 

“Does not love make fools of all of us?” Miss Redruth replied passionately, trying to claw her way past, over, or under the obstacle of Childermass’ obstructing body, and he only narrowly thwarted her unsettlingly resourceful attempt at elbowing him in the pit of his stomach. “Oh Mr Segundus, my love, my most adored master–” 

“So this is what I find when I do not let myself be blinded!” 

Segundus had truly not thought that the situation could get any worse. 

He was proven wrong by the scarlet face of an irate Henry Purfois, who was just then stepping out of a hedge. Looking around, his gaze came to rest on Miss Redruth, whom Childermass had, with some difficulty, secured and passed on to Levy. (Hadley-Bright had proved impervious to any practical attempts to keep him from writhing in agony on the forest floor.) 

Slapping at Levy’s hands and kicking with both feet, Miss Redruth considered this an apt opportunity to call Mr Segundus’ name and declare him once again the owner of her heart, her soul, and her every waking thought…!

“Miss Redruth, I beg you, for the love of… to stop _speaking–_ ” Segundus began, his face bright red when he thought he heard the word ‘maidenhood’ somewhere in her impassioned monologue. 

“You, sir!” Purfois called out for him then, his mouth tightened into a thin, quivering line. “What have you to say for yourself?” 

He stepped forward – not without a brief, but intense grapple with some brambles – and stared down Segundus with open hostility. 

“Mr Purfois!” Segundus took an instinctive step back. “You… you cannot be serious! I… Clearly, there is… there must be some… some fairy magic, or love spell upon this place; think about it but for a minute…!” 

“I have been betrayed and played for a fool long enough!” Purfois’ voice boomed as he drew closer, shoulders squared as if preparing for a fight. “I shall no longer listen to you speak with a split tongue! I will have you answer for your deceptions…” 

“Mr Purfois!” The scream that had been sitting in Segundus’ throat threatened to burst forth from it, but it turned out that Levy was in possession of the greater capacity for both pitch and volume, as just then, Miss Redruth stamped violently on his toes, making him yelp, and tore free to throw herself at Segundus’ feet. 

“Stand back and calm yourselves, all of you!” 

When Segundus blinked an eye open – he realised then that he must have closed them in anticipation of someone colliding with him – his field of vision was largely obscured by the comforting breadth of Childermass’ back. Like a knight in shining armour he had put himself between Segundus and both Purfois and Miss Redruth, and was using that voice of his that indicated clearly and unmistakably that he was not to be trifled with. 

“If either of you wishes to put a hand on Mr Segundus – which he has made very, very clear he does not want,” he added pointedly, and Miss Redruth made a muted sound of outrage, “then, Mr Purfois, Miss Redruth, you will have to go through me.” 

Segundus dared to take a deep breath of relief, shoulders sagging. Then Childermass continued, 

“For I will tell you plainly now that Mr Segundus is mine, and mine alone. I knew it from the moment I opened my eyes to see his face–” He turned to gaze at Segundus with a wild, feverish look. “I knew I must kiss him, and hold him, and make him mine, for I have never beheld such elegant grace and handsome beauty!” 

“Childermass…” 

“Tell them, my heart, my love, my only,” Childermass continued, turning to Segundus now and ignoring Miss Redruth’s disbelieving cry. “Are you not mine, were our kisses not sweet?” 

Segundus stood frozen, staring up at Childermass as though he had been doused with ice water. 

“Childermass,” he said quietly, and his voice sounded small and pathetic even to his own ears as he looked for words. “How can you say such a – Childermass, _look out!_ ” 

He was too late. Purfois had snuck up behind Childermass and had him in a headlock before the warning had fully left Segundus’ mouth. Childermass made an angry, very un-Childermass sound before he – with, frankly, frightening precision – rammed his elbow into Purfois’ gut and elicited a pitiful “oof” from the man as he bent forward holding his middle. 

“Stop it!” Segundus cried when, two seconds later, Purfois came back at Childermass swinging, almost knocking over Miss Redruth in the process, who looked as ready for fisticuffs as any gladiator ever had, had not Hadley-Bright wrapped both his arms around her legs and been professing his undying adoration for her, his face pressed into the skirts of her dress roughly around the height of her kneecaps. Levy had taken hold of one of Hadley-Bright’s legs and was trying to pull him away from Miss Redruth, and presumably to keep him from accidentally being trampled in the brawl between Childermass and Purfois. 

The upper hand in said brawl, however, was unexpectedly had by Mrs Berry, who came running out of the trees, screaming bloody murder and pushing Childermass backwards into a bush as she barreled through, and whacking Purfois soundly over the head with her impressively sized wooden spoon. 

She departed in the same manner as she had arrived – yelling – and disappeared. 

A heartbeat later, the monster chasing her arrived hot on her heels, and sent their little congregation flying into chaos.

***

Segundus had counted to two hundred, then buried deeper into the lilac bush he was hiding in and started over. When he had reached two hundred for the third time, he decided that he had to find some way of getting back to the house and rally, before possibly arming himself with a plan to set things right.

Where exactly he was going to pull that plan from, he had not yet considered, but for the time his priority was to find a way out of the forest without being accosted, and he listened intently for any sounds of movement in the dark woods around him as he hurried – not particularly stealthily – from tree to tree. It was suddenly very dark; the moon appeared gone from the sky, and Segundus tried not to work himself into a panic over the question of where the dim, residual light came from by which he made out the rough of the forest around him. 

He never, however, saw or heard Levy coming until he had slammed into him and released a squealing sort of gasp. 

“Mr Segundus! Mr Segundus, is it you?” Levy’s clothing rustled, and a moment and the striking of a match later, he was holding a candle up to Segundus’ face, one hand clutching the collar of Segundus’ waistcoat. He stood very close. “It _is_ you! Oh, Mr Segundus–” 

“Stay back!” Segundus said, jumping to put some distance between them. Levy had, all things considered, behaved the most normal out of everyone, but then again he usually did, and, Segundus reminded himself, he had thought the same of Childermass, and had been in for a most dreadful surprise… that he did not wish to dwell on. He swallowed. “Do not come any closer! Stay… stay some feet away.” 

Levy had not moved, but he hesitated for a moment, moving the candle around to get a look at their immediate surroundings, before walking to the stump of what must have been a giant of a tree, and sitting down on it. He placed the candle on the wood beside him. 

It occurred to Segundus how strange it was that they were in a forest, when he thought himself quite certain that the Starecross gardens had never bordered on one. It occurred to him how strange it was that he had not thought of this before. 

“How are you feeling, Mr Levy?” Segundus asked carefully, and the younger man sighed. 

“How would you expect me to feel?” He paused, then sighed again, when Segundus provided no reaction other than more caution. “I am not enchanted, Mr Segundus.” 

Indeed, he sounded depressed and tired rather than lustful. Well, it was the middle of the night… or perhaps, Segundus thought as he pondered Levy’s hunched shoulders and pitiful expression, it was a trick. Why would Levy have escaped the spell, when no-one else had? 

“And how is it that you are unaffected?” he asked, deciding no harm could come from being upfront about it. “You said you fainted. Did you have any… visions? Any strange dreams?” Levy numbly shook his head, and Segundus narrowed his eyes. “Who was the first person you saw after you woke up?” 

Segundus thought himself rather clever for his hypothesis; he had formulated it somewhere between the numbers seventy-seven and one hundred and eighty-nine (on his second count, when he had been somewhat calmer). It explained Miss Redruth and Hadley-Bright... and Childermass, too. 

“Hadley-Bright, unconscious on the ground. I suppose I was unaffected by the magic because...” Levy sounded miserable. “…because I was probably already in love with him.” 

Segundus allowed himself to indulge briefly in the less harrowing scenario in which he had to fend off a madly amorous Tom Levy with a stick instead of watching him unpack his genuine heartbreak in front of him – and over _Hadley-Bright_ at that.

“Oh no,” he muttered, shrugging awkwardly. “Well, uh…” 

“I wasn’t supposed to!” Levy protested, not that Segundus had asked. “We were only – you do remember it was such a long winter, and when that last bit of snow came in the second week of March and snowed the school in…” (Segundus remembered it well; he had missed the Society Meeting that month.) “...we were just so _bored_ , and we had had some wine, and thought we could amuse ourselves a little.” He ended with an unhappy grimace. “It was fine! But… I think his mother has been urging him to leave Starecross and make his mark upon the world. And get married, and… oh, I realise I do not like that thought at all now.” 

Groaning, he buried his face in his hands.

“I… see,” Segundus pressed out through his clenched jaw, making his best effort to collect himself. In a show of solidarity that appeared to require only a little courage, he walked over to sit beside Levy and patted his back. “I feel like I must point out that… he, uh… he is clearly under a love spell. You must have realised it – Hadley-Bright does not actually have passionate feelings for Miss Redruth… or does he?” He was more than reasonably certain of this, hollow as the comfort rang after they had all witnessed Hadley-Bright tear the sleeves right off his shirt to give expression to his ardent admiration.

Poor man, Segundus thought with a sideways glance at Levy, and then scolded himself for his lack of charity. Yet, Hadley-Bright, of all people…! Of all the Starecross tutors, Hadley-Bright was – unfortunately for Levy – the least transformed by the love spell. 

This was a disheartening conclusion for anyone to arrive at. 

As disheartening a conclusion as it was to realise the implications for his own unaffectedness by the spell, and what Levy might infer from it. 

“I… we should focus on what to do about the fairies,” he said resolutely, slapping his knees the way Mr Honeyfoot liked to do when something excited him. It felt harrowingly out of character for Segundus, and he winced. “I am certain this must be the work of fairies. You see, I felt their magic drawing near, and when I fainted, that is to say, while I was unconscious, I had a vision of a fairy lady.” 

Levy listened with a critical expression. “And did she seem… hostile? Evil?” 

“No,” Segundus conceded, trying his best to recall the moment in detail. “She seemed rather… in good spirits. Amused, though not malicious. Which might be a trick, I realise. But she spoke to me. I cannot remember what it was she said, but… she stood over Childermass, then turned to me and…” He cleared his throat, then said with some decisiveness. “But this must be why I myself am not affected by the spell. Surely, she must have done _something_...” 

He trailed off, gesturing in what he thought was a very self-confident manner.

“Uh-hmm.” 

Segundus was severely irritated to receive a very flat look indeed from Levy, who was not in the habit of employing sarcasm or irony as part of his character. Clearing his throat again and fighting back the flush that was creeping up his neck, he got his hands back under control, thankful that Levy seemed not to want to dwell on the matter. 

“I suppose it is lucky there are two of us of sound mind.” Sizing Segundus up, Levy nodded to himself. “I daresay we will have a better chance at seizing control of the situation…” 

“Mr Levy!” Segundus exclaimed. “You do not propose that we do battle with a fairy?” 

Where did people get the absurd notion that this was a reasonable thing to suggest to him? 

“No,” Levy responded slowly. “That would be very stupid.” 

“Yes, indeed.” Segundus had not thought to try any magic yet, but was unwilling to admit it so shortly after being implied to be stupid by his own tutor, whom he had hired. “I would say our best bet is to get the others out of this forest back to Starecross and attempt to disenchant them…”

“But how do we know which way Starecross lies?” Levy asked. “I tried a location spell in a puddle. The magic in this forest is very capricious. I could not get it to work properly.”

“I…” Segundus frowned, then turned around once on the spot, then again, in the other direction, and pointed with his hand. “This way. I am… somehow certain of it.” The magic felt shallower there, the forest lighter. Levy followed the line of his finger and frowned intently in the direction indicated.

“Huh. So how are we going to go about it, then?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4Alumni of Starecross up until this day, as well as readers familiar with Macdonald’s 1922 memoir _Confessions of a Starecross Fairy_ , will recognise this moment as the origin of the popular phrase ‘looking for Hadley-Bright’s buttons’, which has served as a euphemism among the student body for activities involving physical closeness in the bushes after hours and unbeknownst to the supervising staff ever since. [return to text]


	3. Chapter 3

“I much want to say that this has turned out to be easier than anticipated,” Levy panted, pausing to heave a breath and adjust his grip around Purfois’ middle. “But I did not expect him to be this… unwieldy!” 

“Perhaps if we simply took an arm each, we might haul him backward,” Segundus suggested, and they each released their hold, causing Purfois’ limp body to rather unceremoniously slump back into the flowering bush into which they had tripped him with the help of a cunningly placed rope of ivy. It had been a diversion tactic at best, to put him at a disadvantage after luring him into the trees, so they could contrive a way of binding his arms and legs and render him incapable of putting up a fight as they hauled him back towards Starecross. Purfois had, at the time they had found him, been engaged in an impromptu boxing match with a half naked Hadley-Bright over Miss Redruth’s affections (though the lady herself had not been present), and he had still seemed just as belligerently inclined towards Segundus. Apart from his blood being up, he had a good head in height on both Segundus and Levy, and trickery had been in order. 

They were somewhat surprised by how well the trickery had worked.

Now, his mouth slightly agape and softly snoring up at them as he lay on his back on the forest floor, the primary danger Purfois’ presented was that one of them might throw their back out trying to lug him very far. 

“At least…” Segundus broke out as he stepped over a root in the narrow path, “He is the heaviest of them. And neither of us has had to wrestle him.” His mood was additionally improved by the realisation that his sense of direction had not left him hanging; up ahead, he could spot the light purple shimmer of the wisterias that had marked the edge of the forest.

“Yes, Bill will be significantly easier. And Charlotte–I mean, Miss Redruth, too,” Levy confirmed, when, some time later, they propped Purfois sitting up against a nearby and very unmagical crabapple tree that hadn’t yielded so much as a barrel of apples in all of Segundus’ time at Starecross, and reappropriated his neckcloth to tie his wrists behind the trunk. They had, Levy proposed as he caught his breath, his hands stemmed in his sides, better get the others first; it would take too much time to take Purfois all the way to the house and up to his room on the second floor, and he would be fine sitting here for a while. Purfois underlined this statement with a passionate snore. 

“Let us hope we will find the others quickly,” Segundus mused aloud as they went back into the forest, following the same path they had come. “Who knows what else lurks in this woo–”

“Hush,” Levy cut him off, a finger raised to his lips and eyes wide as he listened. “Do you… do you hear this?” 

Cautiously, as not to make any more sound than absolutely necessary, they snuck through the trees, following the high-pitched sounds that, the closer they got, sounded rather too rhythmic to be mere conversation. 

“This… this does not sound like Hadley-Bright,” Segundus whispered, eyes wide, and he looked to Levy for confirmation. “Does it?” 

“No,” Levy replied, and his ears were glowing red even in the twilight of the fairy forest. At the next cry, he visibly flinched and glared at Segundus with wide eyes.“ _No!_ ” 

“Take _this!_ And _this!_ You _fiend!_ You _scoundrel!_ ” 

“I… I admit I had… not considered what to do about… oh...” Segundus began, then was cut off by the steady moans of ecstasy echoing through the thickets. 

“Oh, beat me, fierce woman, won’t you! Your words are sharp, but the cut of your spoon is sweet!” 

“Well,” Levy said faintly, “This, at least, puts our speculations to rest. Our monster is definitely Vinculus…”[5]

“Should we not–” Segundus almost choked on his words when Vinculus let out a loud, amorous honking sound that Segundus sincerely wished he had the option of erasing from his memory before it got stuck there. “Mrs Berry – should we not come to her aid?” 

Levy appeared to contemplate this for a moment, somewhat pale around the nose. The bushes ahead shook and rustled, and Mrs Berry’s laughter was followed by the smacking sound of wood on flesh.

“She’ll… she’ll be fine,” Levy concluded, taking a step back. “She’s got the spoon. I don’t… I am not sure what we would do to intervene…” He cleared his throat. “And Vinculus is resilient and not easily killed, as we know. They’ll… they sound like they’re sorting it out.” 

“Oh, but,” Segundus burst out as they fled the scene, more quickly than they had approached it and haunted by the sounds they left behind, “I dare not think what has become of Charles! He… he was not with them, was he? He… oh, I do hope he is alright…!” 

“We can only take on one person at a time,” Levy pointed out. “If we come across him, we might still re-evaluate, but for now we should stick to our plan.” 

Segundus nodded. “Miss Redruth or Hadley-Bright…” 

“I suggest Miss Redruth first. Once we have her, we can use her as bait to lure B–Hadley-Bright,” Levy said grimly, and Segundus nodded, frowning when a thought occurred to him. 

“But how are we going to lure Miss Redruth?”

***

“Charlotte… you… need to…be… quiet...” Levy struggled against Miss Redruth’s kicking feet as he haphazardly wound his neckcloth around her ankles to keep her from inflicting major damage to his softer organs. To this, she responded by screaming loudly and protesting her unending love up at Segundus, who had grabbed her under the arms to carry the upper half of her surprisingly heavy body.

“Mr Segundus, Mr Segundus! Oh, to be in your arms! Oh, Mr _Segundus!_ ” 

She tried to reach up with her bound hands – she had not objected to this on account of it being Mr Segundus’ neckcloth that had been used to bind them – and Mr Segundus momentarily ran danger of dropping her.

“Miss Redruth, please, you will–” 

“You will attract Mr Childermass!” Levy finished sternly, tying his neckcloth tight with decided vigour and glowering up at Miss Redruth, who was glaring back daggers at him, but seemed to be listening despite herself. He raised a warning finger. “And he will object very strongly to your being carried by Mr Segundus! Remember?” 

Something in the thickets made a rustling sound, and Miss Redruth stilled, doing her best to cast a look around, before her gaze was caught by the underside of Segundus’ face and she sighed, making lovelorn doe eyes up at him. Segundus grimaced politely down at her, but was too distracted by the hypothetical possibility of Childermass stepping out of the bushes any minute. They had rather lost track of him after Mrs Berry and Vinculus had broken up their initial congregation… 

Segundus was suddenly struck by the thought that there had been a good chance that, walking circles around a tree stump and singing merrily as he had been (at Levy’s instruction), he might just as likely have ended up face to face with Childermass instead of Miss Redruth. 

“Let him come,” Miss Redruth muttered under her breath when they began to carry her to the edge of the forest. Segundus cast a brief look down at her to confirm that yes, she was indeed still looking wistfully up at him. “I will fight anyone for you, my love.” 

“Very nice, Miss Redruth. Thank you,” he replied, in the same tone that he sometimes used to placate Mr Honeyfoot’s new dog when it tried to jump his leg. Up ahead, Levy snorted as he led the way along the path that would lead them to the wisterias and the crabapple tree where they had left Purfois.

***

The only part of the next step of their plan that was working out was that once Segundus disappeared back into the forest, Miss Redruth started calling his name at the top of her voice, tearing at the ropes of ivy that bound her to the very sturdy hawthorn bush a little away from Purfois, who was, occasionally, blinking his eyes and mumbling a few incoherent words before passing out again. Segundus was only faintly worried about him, but decided to investigate just how hard Purfois must have hit his head once the night was over.

Sneaking through the underbrush, Miss Redruth’s heartache steady at his back, Segundus listened carefully for any sounds of Hadley-Bright approaching, for surely he would be lured by the voice of the object of his affection? He had, however, proved disturbingly elusive; for all the fervour with which he had pursued Miss Redruth before, and the speed with which he had scarpered to run after her when Segundus and Levy had cut his boxing match with Purfois short, he was nowhere to be found now. 

Segundus sincerely hoped that he was, all things considered, in good health. 

Letting his sense of direction guide him, he walked deeper into the woods, with the intention of either finding Hadley-Bright and subtly shepherding him towards Miss Redruth and Levy, who was lying in wait to jump him and save him from himself, or to circle back to the edge of the forest and consult with Levy about what to do next. 

When he thought he heard footsteps, he ducked half behind a tree, his eyes searching his surroundings for signs of the last of Starecross’ tutors. 

There was no sign of life that he could detect, save the chirruping sound of a starling overhead, followed by a flutter and a swift shadow as it took off. 

Noticing the hairs at the back of his neck standing up, Segundus wondered, suddenly, what the odds might be that Hadley-Bright would also want to fight him as Purfois had, and suffered a quick moment of dismay when he realised just how exhausted he was from hauling two of his tutors out of the woods, and how unlikely it was that he was going to do well in a fistfight against someone twenty years younger than him. 

But no. He would cross that bridge when he came to it. 

Picking up a decently solid-looking twig from the ground, he, so armed, stealthily moved away from his tree to make for the next one, a thick oak tree that looked ideal for hiding behind. 

The issue, he understood five seconds later, was not that the tree was not suited to hiding behind. 

The issue was that someone was already hiding behind it. 

“Mr Segundus.” Childermass’ hand closed around Segundus’ arm when he stumbled back in surprise and threatened to fall as his shoe got caught in a root. 

“Ch-Childermass!” 

Segundus scrambled to regain his balance, promptly dropping his twig in the process, and jumped to put some distance between himself and Childermass, who closed it without missing a beat. 

“Childermass?” he asked, reaching out a hand to touch Segundus’ face. “You called me John before.”

“Yes, well,” Segundus stammered, skipping backwards into a patch of hyacinths. “I had hit my head.” 

“You should call me John,” Childermass purred as he moved in pursuit, and Segundus slipped from his grasp, feeling rather as though they were involved in some elaborate kind of dance. “Or better, call me your pet, your pumpkin, your darling…!” 

“Mr Childermass!” Segundus choked out the words, swiftly putting a majestically blooming lilac bush between them and fighting back the flush that was creeping up his cheeks again. 

“And I should call you…” Something between a squeal and a surprised laugh escaped Segundus’ throat when Childermass’ head appeared amidst the dark pink flowers and he began to struggle straight through the bush. “...my dearest, my sweetheart, my…” he looked around, seemingly for inspiration, “...my blossom, my daffodil, my everlasting bloom of desire, my red, ripe pomegranate of love–”

“Pomegranate!” Segundus laughed, at the absurdity of such a statement, and for just one brief moment, and that moment was all Childermass needed to tear himself free from the lilac bush. 

“I would bask in the scent of your sweet flower,” he continued, unerringly, picking a twig out of his hair and tossing it aside, eyes never leaving Segundus, “And remove any weed that might plague you and… and I would pluck you with the gentlest care–” 

“ _Mr Childermass!_ ” 

As he stepped blindly backwards, somewhat scandalised, Segundus froze when his back suddenly met with the expanse of a thick hedge of Red Robin that he could have sworn had not been there before, and a cloud of fireflies exploded from its depths, painting the air with tiny dancing stars. 

“I would caress each leaf with the nurturing raindrops of my devotion–” Childermass was suddenly very close, and his arms closed around Segundus, who thought he was making an admirable attempt at pushing him away, but was thwarted by the helpless gasps of laughter that shook through him. “–and bathe them in the sunlight of warmth of my eternal adoration. I would fondle your stem–” 

“ _Stop!_ Childermass–” Wriggling his hands up between their bodies, Segundus caught Childermass face. Childermass stilled obediently, and as he looked up at his face, his eyes wild and glazed and dark, and so open and eager, so unguarded, Segundus was overcome by terrible, overwhelming fondness. “You are going to be so _mortified_ by this.” 

“Never,” Childermass breathed, and Segundus only narrowly dodged his attempt at a kiss. “How can you say such a thing, my dove, my–” 

Segundus pressed a thumb to Childermass’ lips to prevent him from digging the hole of their conjoined embarrassment, present and future, any deeper. 

“Trust me,” he said, rolling his eyes when Childermass pressed back against his thumb, first with his lips, then with his tongue. Segundus jerked this thumb away and gave Childermass’ head a gentle, disapproving shake. “My dear, dear Childermass. You must stop this now, and believe me when I tell you–” 

“Anything, oh,” Childermass moaned, leaning into Segundus’ hands cupping his face, his own hands tightening their grip as though to lift Segundus off his feet. “Speak, and I will listen to the music of your voice, the song of my–” 

“Would you shut up, then?” Segundus laughed, and as if by some miracle, Childermass relented, softening his hold and setting Segundus back on the ground. Something inside Segundus’ chest fluttered most achingly, and he watched as a firefly landed on Childermass’ shoulder, another on top of his head. 

“I can see the moon shining in your eyes,” Childermass said, very quietly, and Segundus could feel all his righteous resolve unravel when Childermass began to lean in, very slowly, tentatively… 

...and then, without any more warning than a resounding “thud”, crumpled to the ground, almost taking Segundus down with him. 

When Segundus straightened up, he saw Levy’s astonished face, looking with some amount of shock at the large, wooden spoon in his hand. 

“Wherever did you get the spoon from?” Segundus screeched – much to his embarrassment – and Levy shook his head.

“I stumbled across it. I did not expect it to…” he said dumbly, staring down at Childermass before meeting Segundus’ gaze. “That is some spoon.”[6]

“Oh, Childermass...” Segundus breathed, crouching down to make sure Childermass had not been hurt. He had not, it seemed, judging by the disoriented groan that left his lips when Segundus tilted his face towards him to check his head for any signs of bleeding. He gestured for Levy to help, and together they hauled Childermass up, each of them slinging one of his arms over their shoulders. 

“You had not come back, so I thought I’d look for you,” Levy explained when they began to half carry, half drag Childermass back to the path. “I was worried you’d lost your way, or…” 

“I was waylaid,” Segundus muttered, glad that Childermass’ lolling head was blocking Levy’s view of his blushing face. “But oh! Hadley-Bright, has he–” 

“He was fine when I left him,” Levy replied gloomily. “I tied him up well out of Purfois’ reach.” 

“You were able to catch him!” Segundus exclaimed, relieved that, at least, his getting sidetracked by Childermass had not resulted in a failure of their plan. 

“Yes,” Levy sighed. “It was little trouble, actually. Hadley-Bright is an idiot.”

Segundus was sure Levy did not mean to sound as fond as he did, and decided not to remark upon it. Instead he focused on the path ahead, and after some minutes, was suddenly uncertain they were heading in the right direction. He thought he could hear water nearby, and there had been none anywhere near the path back to Starecross.

“I think we may have missed a turn somewhere,” he frowned, slowing and ducking when Levy accidentally let go of a low-hanging branch that had blocked their view and sent it snapping at Segundus’ face. It missed him, but grazed the back of Childermass’ head, eliciting a sleepy snuffle from him.

“What in…” Levy breathed, and, abandoning his efforts to shoulder Childermass’ weight more efficiently, Segundus followed his gaze and froze. 

Ahead, at the far edge of a picturesque pond, two fairies were dancing, arm in arm, twirling and spinning in flowing white gowns, their long hair the colour of starlight cascading down their backs. Music hung in the air, and their laughter carried across the mirror of the water’s surface that began to ripple, ripple, until it was broken by a mermaid emerging with a grand splash, sending a shower of droplets high, as he shook out his golden hair. 

Segundus was mesmerised by the spectacle of it, by the white disc of the moon that was reflected in the water even though the skies were dark, by the way its light played across the shimmering expanse of the mermaid’s broad shoulders, his skin glittering in all the colours of the rainbow. 

At the edge of the water, the fairies tumbled to the ground, rolling through the grass while the mermaid frolicked in the shallows of the pond, surrounded by water lilies. 

“Is that…” Levy asked in disbelief when one of the fairies tossed what looked to be a grape, or a berry, at the mermaid. “...Mrs Lennox?” 

It was indeed Mrs Lennox. And Mrs Blake, Segundus might have added, had his brain not been too occupied trying to comprehend that the glittering, shimmering mermaid was, in fact, Charles.[7]

Charles, who caught the grape Mrs Lennox had thrown him with his mouth and fell back into the waters with a merry splash indeed. 

“I… no,” Segundus stammered, fighting to keep a grip on Childermass as he stumbled backwards. “Clearly, we took a wrong turn.” 

Levy, it appeared, needed no further explanation than that to follow.

***

It seemed to Segundus that the way out of the woods felt longer and longer each time he walked it, even though, judging by the landmarks they passed, it should have been the opposite. By the time they lowered Childermass down on the ground, not bothering to tie him to anything on account of his unconsciousness, Segundus thought his shoulders and neck were about to fall straight off of him, and his head was ringing, a fact that was not helped by Hadley-Bright and Miss Redruth bickering at the top of their voices.

“Do not presume to come anywhere near my bush!” Miss Redruth screeched just then, kicking her legs in Hadley-Bright’s direction, which did not seem to deter Hadley-Bright in his endeavour of scooting her way as far as his fetters would permit. 

“Oh, for goodness’ sake!” Levy groaned, sounding well and truly at the end of his tether as he pulled something from his pocket, and for a moment Segundus thought he was about to swing Mrs Berry’s spoon at the two of them. Segundus was half on his feet to prevent it, when he saw that Levy was, in fact, holding a flower under their noses. He watched as Miss Redruth’s eyes rolled back in her head and she exhaled a deep sigh as she went to sleep. 

“It’s from the bush Purfois fell into,” Levy explained grimly when Hadley-Bright had followed suit and he put the flower away again. Segundus gaped.

“You cannot go around drugging people with Faerie flowers!” 

“Oh, please,” Levy replied, gesturing at Purfois, who was muttering Miss Redruth’s name into his non-existent beard. “He’s clearly alright. A little bit out of it still, but that will have been the dosage.” 

Crossing his arms in disapproval, Segundus leaned against the nearest tree. At his feet, Childermass grunted in his sleep, and as he looked down at him, the details of his face that had been lost to the dim light before, Segundus thought the night around them was shifting in a strange, elusive way he could not quite put words to, as though a breeze had swept by unnoticed and brought with it a fresher air. Overhead the sky had changed its colour, subtly, but somehow Segundus was sure of it. 

When he turned towards the wood, he thought it looked paler, as though it was slowly fading into a greyer shade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5Levy’s (as well as Mr Segundus’ and Miss Redruth’s) use of the word ‘monster’ in reference to Vinculus in this particular instance is well documented not only in Mr Levy’s diary entries detailing the events of the night, but also in letters written by Miss Redruth to her friend Miss Lambeth at the time, and through anecdotal comments made by Mr Segundus to Mr Honeyfoot some time later, which Mr Honeyfoot, in turn, outlined in much abbreviated form in his own diary afterwards. All three accounts are today presumed to have formed the basis on which Chonk Rotherham (1802-1868) wrote his infamous farcical sex comedy _Her Passion Smacks of Magic_ (1857), a play that received strong initial opposition upon its first performance from Miss Redruth, at the time headmistress of Starecross, but which was, several headmasters later, adopted by the school as a regularly performed (if somewhat sanitised) Christmas play. What is important to note is that Rotherham’s incarnation of Vinculus the Monster as a lion-headed, hooved octopus is the product of pure poetic licence, as none of the eye-witnesses ever provided an actual description of the specific transformation Vinculus may or may not have undergone that night, and that the specific shape of Rotherham’s monster may have been motivated, according to Bingby (1922), by “personal sexual preference, or possibly the sadistic thrill of seeing someone attempting to stage it.”[return to text]
> 
> 6The spoon in question was afterwards given some scrutiny to ascertain any magical capabilities it might possess; however, two independent studies (Levy 1821 and Ramsay 1833) declared it a perfectly ordinary, if well-crafted, rowan-wood cooking spoon. Interested readers may see the spoon in the local Museum of Magical History in the village of Starecross, where it has been the central exhibit of the para-magical handicraft section since 1872 (barring a 2-year period from 1910 to 1912, where it was on loan to the British Museum in London). Reproductions can be obtained from the museum’s gift shop at ￡10.99 (price as of 24 March 1985).[return to text]
> 
> 7This description of Charles, the Starecross manservant (his surname, if ever it was known, has been lost to modern scholarship), is corroborated by Levy’s diary account of the events of that night, and, puzzlingly, the most specific physical description available of a man mentioned often, if vaguely, in the letters and diaries of Starecross students as a formative influence on their budding, pubescent imagination. It has, however, been argued by several contemporaries, that Frederick Drag’s rendition of St Sebastian (oil on canvas, ca. 1850), on display in Starecross’ village church, was heavily inspired by the likeness of Charles, whom Drag would have known from his time as a student at Starecross (1822-1830).[return to text]


	4. Chapter 4

“Where… where…” Childermass slurred the words and slumped unexpectedly against Segundus, who put his whole weight into keeping them all upright. To Childermass’ other side, Levy was struggling to keep his balance, one hand on the bannister.

“It’s quite alright, Mr Childermass,” Segundus replied, trying coax Childermass to take some steps of his own. “We must get you to bed; you are very tired.” 

“Bed,” Childermass sighed, and his arm tightened around Segundus’ shoulder. “Will you take me to bed, my dove? Your bed…” 

“Yes, quite,” Segundus was too tired to start an argument two thirds up a staircase, and he nudged Childermass encouragingly, while signalling Levy to let go. If Childermass could be made to walk himself, neither of them would be unhappy about it. “Just take another step… and another… very well done!” 

“What I would give to be in your bed, oh…” 

“Very nice, Mr Childermass…” Segundus said, too tired even to be much embarrassed by Childermass’ sluggish attempt at groping him with Levy only three steps away. For one, none of Childermass’ increasingly lewd remarks as they slowly made their way up to the first floor held a candle to what Miss Redruth had drawled into his ear earlier, and for two, he suspected both he and Levy could no longer afford to burden themselves with anything like shame, or they would both collapse on the spot. 

“Thssssnot… not your bedroom,” Childermass mumbled when Segundus manhandled him into his room and made for the bed, onto which he deposited him with as much gentleness as he had left in him, which was not much. Yet when Segundus made to move away, Childermass’ hand caught the sleeve of his shirt. “Where are you going, my love? Stay. Come to bed…” 

“I… in a minute,” Segundus said, prying his sleeve out of Childermass’ grip and brushing an errant strand of hair out of Childermass’ face in a feigned show of sincerity. “You must lie back now… I will… I will quickly fetch… something…” 

He truly had not meant anything by the comment[8], but Childermass’ eyes darkened as he heard it. 

“Yes, my love,” he groaned, writhing on the sheets most lasciviously. “Yes, do… oh, I wish I had some, but…” 

Segundus fled, hurrying past Levy, who stood in the door and closed it behind them before turning the key twice in the lock and slipping it into his waistcoat pocket, where it met the keys to Hadley-Bright’s and Purfois’ rooms, and Miss Redruth’s apartment with a soft clinking sound. 

As he slumped against a windowsill, Segundus realised his face was rather flushed, and he rubbed it vigorously before he was able to meet Levy’s eye. Levy, for his part, was looking past Segundus and out of the window, at the moon that was back in the sky now and shone brightly on his exhausted face. 

“I can’t go back out,” he said weakly, letting his head fall back against the door to Childermass’ room. “I just can’t…” 

“But Mrs Lennox,” Segundus pointed out, despairing at the thought of having to bring everyone else back inside on his own. “Mrs Blake, and Charles…!”

They had, in their worry that the disappearing fairy forest would take with it everyone still in it, gone back in search of Mrs Berry and Vinculus, and Mrs Lennox, Mrs Blake and Charles, only to find them sleeping soundly, tucked away in some corner of the not at all disappearing, but rather solidifying Starecross gardens. Vinculus, Levy had amended curtly, had appeared tucked away rather in Mrs Berry’s ample form, with her arms slung tightly around his spindly frame, whereas Segundus had found Mrs Lennox and Mrs Blake fast sleep atop the stone table that stood in a far corner of the gardens, where Segundus sometimes took his students for lessons in botany, and Charles, clad only in breeches, curled up under one of the benches. Segundus had spread the shirt that he had plucked from a mulberry bush on the way over him and then decided that none of them was in imminent danger if they were left for the time being, especially since the pond in which they might have accidentally drowned had vanished too. 

“I do not have the strength to carry one more person into the house and up to their rooms,” Levy admitted rather frankly. “Dawn can’t be far away now. Once the servants wake up, we can ask them for help, but…” 

“You’re right,” Segundus conceded, looking ponderously out at the moon as it slowly sank towards the horizon. “But perhaps we should try and lift the enchantment, now that we have the moon back in the sky. If it does not work, we must make sure to keep them locked up while we think of something else…” 

They settled on Miss Redruth as their first patient. Not only was the object of her misguided affection Mr Segundus and thus, assessing her state of enchantment would be comparatively easy, but also she was the only one Levy and Segundus were reasonably certain they could physically keep in check in case their attempts failed. Also, from listening at her door before they unlocked it, they concluded there was a good chance that she had fallen asleep. 

This turned out to be the case, and she did not stir even when Segundus gently rolled her over to face the window, from which Levy had pulled the curtains to let in the moon to place at her eye. 

For a moment nothing happened. Then she woke with a start, and when her eyes cleared and focused on Segundus, the real embarrassment began.

***

Purfois, Segundus decided, might be his new favourite tutor, if only on account of his barely saying a word and merely rolling over to drop back to sleep upon being released from his enchantment. It was a very gentlemanly, considerate thing to do, Segundus thought, and resolved to forgive any attempt Purfois had made to inflict physical harm on him earlier based on this fact alone.[9]

The first signs of a pink dawn came in through the windows, and the magic that hung in the air still appeared thinner than it had before, like gauze that had been stretched too wide and was beginning to tear in places and pool in others. 

As he walked down winding corridors back towards where he and Levy had split up to disenchant Hadley-Bright and Purfois, respectively, Segundus felt as though shadows of the night were taking shape and moving around the newly approaching day, flitting past him too quickly for his tired, human eye to follow. Passing the servants’ stairs he thought he heard a door fall shut below, and muted giggling floated up from the kitchen, accompanied by the clinking of bottles and the sound of footsteps on the stairs. From the safety of an alcove, Segundus watched as Mrs Berry pulled Vinculus up the stairs in the directions of the servants’ quarters, both of them in a state of undress, laden with the contents of the pantry and stifling their giggles.

Walking to Hadley-Bright’s door when Levy did not appear at the appointed spot, Segundus contemplated for a moment whether he should knock, or simply enter to make certain Levy had not encountered any trouble with the spell. 

His hand was already on the handle when Levy made a sound within. 

A sound that Segundus could not, without decidedly advanced logical contortion, misinterpret (nor, after the events of the night, which he felt had rather strengthened the bond of friendship between Levy and him, did he want to). 

Ah, well. 

He supposed there was no reason why he would need Levy’s assistance in lifting the spell from Childermass, either. Levy had given him the key to Childermass’ room along with the key to get into Purfois’, not that Segundus had thought twice about it at the time. 

At the end of the hall from Childermass’ room, Segundus thought he saw Mrs Blake ushering Charles into Mrs Lennox’s room before slipping in after him. They both moved like sleepwalkers, entirely ignorant of him, Mrs Blake still wearing her nightdress, her hair undone and down to the small of her back. She disappeared and closed the door, and the house was silent once more. 

Segundus took a deep breath and gathered his courage. 

At the turn of the key, the lock clicked silently, and he stilled just for a moment, waiting for a response before he pushed the door open, the shadow that had seemed to be two steps ahead of him as he had walked down the hall slithering into the room and drawing him along. 

It was quiet inside, and Segundus walked over to the bed on soft soles, mindful of his steps and his breath, to find Childermass asleep on the sheets, fully clothed and with his shoes still on his feet. His hair spread loose and wild across the pillows, and his face was peacefully neutral, void of the ardent fervour he had worn before, and free of the sarcasm and sharp wit that often furrowed his brow or tightened the lines around his lips. 

Outside the window, a starling sang its jaunty tune, and Segundus pushed aside the curtains, setting the shadows flying as the last light of the setting moon flooded the room. Segundus exhaled to loosen his shoulders before he collected himself, rallied his focus and his magic, and plucked the moon out of the sky. 

When he turned to the bed, he found himself face to face with a man he had never seen before, a man who eyed him with great curiosity. 

“Well, look at you.” There was something mischievous and gleeful about his voice, about the glimmer in his dark eyes, the impossible sheen of his ink black clothes that somehow reflected shades of iridescent blue and purple and green and gold, as though it were made from a million butterflies, or scales, or feathers. His long, black hair framed a face of sharp, otherworldly beauty, and for a moment, Segundus was certain he must be a fairy, though there was something about his demeanor that made Segundus quite convinced he was not. 

“You disapprove, John Segundus,” the man said, and a wicked grin spread across his face. “Are you so offended by us shadows?” 

He snatched the moon from Segundus’ fingers and flipped it like a coin. 

“You got what you desired, did you not?” 

“What I…” Segundus found his speech, anger burning in his stomach. “Was this all a game to you, then? To… to your race? Are we but playthings in your eyes?” 

The man – or perhaps he was a fairy, after all? – tutted and returned the moon to Segundus, who cradled it in his palm. He looked over his shoulder at Childermass sleeping on the bed, then back at Segundus. 

“It is not often, John Segundus,” – he was, Segundus thought, stunningly beautiful; enough so to be frightening, as he leaned in closer to Segundus’ ear – “that my Lord and Lady decide to bless a house of mine.” 

“ _Bless?_ You call that–” 

“Oh, do not speak of what you know naught,” the man hushed him with a finger to his lips. “Lovers will sleep well here. And when you wake, John Segundus, you may call it all a dream if it pleases you.” 

On the bed, Childermass sighed in his sleep, and the next time Segundus blinked, the strange man was gone, and outside, a bird took flight. 

Spotting a golden strip on the pink horizon, Segundus hurried over to the bed, and, gently and softly, placed the moon at Childermass’ eye. He watched his eyelids flutter, a frown cross his brow and dissolve again. 

Segundus took a step back and, with a deep breath, Childermass opened his eyes and blinked. 

“Good God,” he muttered, raising both hands to his head as though to soothe an imaginary headache. Remembering Mrs Berry’s spoon, Segundus thought perhaps the headache was not so very imaginary. 

Then Childermass spotted Segundus, and his composure slipped for a split second. He stared at him, wide-eyed, then down at himself, at the state of his shirt and shoes, and his hand touched the back of his head, making him wince. 

“Was I... _enchanted?_ ” 

“Yes, but now you are not,” Segundus said, quickly and as calmly as he could. There was something frantic drawing up behind Childermass’ eyes, and he pushed himself upright, taking in the state of the bed, the room. Segundus cleared his throat and went on. “You were not the only one who was enchanted. Everyone was, that is–” 

“Why am I in bed? Did you… was it you who brought me here? I remember the… there was a forest!” 

“Well,” Segundus stuttered. “You… It seemed the safest, and we had to– I can assure you, you have not been disturbed, or… imposed on…” 

Childermass stared at him, then huffed a laugh that verged somewhat on hysteria. 

“Naturally. You would never. You said so yourself.” 

“I… yes.” Segundus was unsure what else to say to such a statement. He shuffled his feet. “Well, the spell has been lifted. All is as it was before, I am reasonably certain, so I suggest–”

“The things I said!” Childermass burst out, swinging his legs out of the bed and agitatedly running a hand through his hair. “The things I… Did I threaten to fistfight Miss Redruth?” 

“It may have been in your best interest that you didn’t,” Segundus pointed out, knotting his fingers nervously as he watched Childermass pace the length of his bed, up and down, before he took a turn and poured himself a glass of water from the beaker by his washstand. “Think nothing of it! Everyone… everyone has said things they regret tonight. Believe me, if you knew half the things Miss Redruth or Hadley-Bright spouted, when… but it was all the spell! You were enchanted and none of you master of your own words or deeds.” 

Childermass set down the empty glass and took a deep breath. For a moment, time ticked by undisturbed, then Childermass looked straight at Segundus, and it stopped. 

“You were not enchanted.” 

“I was not.” Segundus’ throat felt very dry, and he tried to remember when he had last had a drink of water. He coughed. “Mr Levy and I seem to have escaped the spell. We cannot quite explain why, to be honest, but…” 

“But you… when you woke up, you…” 

Childermass had kissed him. And Segundus had kissed him back. 

“As I said, we all…” Segundus swallowed, and realised he could not quite bring himself to lie and pretend he regretted a moment of that particular interlude. “...we have all had a long night. I… I should go to sleep, and so should you.” He could not quite bring himself to look Childermass in the eye, either. “Please.” 

Childermass said nothing, only nodded to himself, still visibly upset, his gaze wandering from Segundus to the chest of drawers next to him, to the book that lay on top of it, a battered old leather tome that smelled of onions. 

It took Segundus a long moment to get his body to move, but move it he did, making for the door and feeling Childermass’ gaze at the back of his neck as he reached for the handle. 

They would have to talk about it eventually, he knew, but not now, not until he had had some time to think, to find and arrange some good, solid words with which he might explain himself, explain how– 

A hand closed around his arm and spun him around, and he was pressed back against the door that slammed shut behind him, the force of it rattling through his bones. Childermass stood pressed against him, and before Segundus could quite comprehend what was happening, Childermass leaned in to kiss him. 

It was a short kiss, deep and earnest, but short, over too soon, and just enough to rob him of his breath. 

Gasping, Segundus blinked. All he could see was Childermass. 

“Tell me, please,” Childermass’ voice was quiet and gravelly, a rumble in his chest that caused the air between their lips to quiver. “Have I ruined it?”

All Segundus could see was Childermass. 

“What?” 

Childermass bit his lip, then raised a hand to Segundus’ face to cup his cheek, forcing him to look at him. 

“The only thing I regret,” he said, and he sounded so serious, Segundus thought his heart might break. “Is that I did not kiss you before the enchantment. That I must now fear that you… that we are forever tainted by what has happened tonight, and...” He hesitated, and something bitter and insecure worried the line of his mouth. “I will pay the price for my cowardice, I will, though… that is to say, unless you were to believe me that I would take back nothing that I said.” 

“Childermass…” 

“Nothing of what I told you. Perhaps the wording, and certainly the manner in which it was conveyed, but I…” He winced, and Segundus thought he could detect the faintest traces of a blush on his cheeks. “I do wish you would call me John.” 

“...John.” Curling a hand into the front of Childermass’ shirt, Segundus slowly, bit by bit, began to understand what was happening, began to believe that it was, in fact, really happening, and felt a smile spread across his face. Inside his chest, his heart began to beat louder and louder, until he was sure Childermass must hear it. 

Slowly, but without hesitation, he leaned forward, and pressed his lips to Childermass’. 

Childermass’ kisses were no less eager now that he was master of himself again, and yet they were different, less forward, more selfish, as though he wished to savour them in a way he had not when he had been affected by the magic. 

Segundus could have kissed him for a long, long time. 

“Am I still dreaming?” he asked eventually, eyes closed, his forehead pressed against Childermass’. “Will I wake up from this?” 

“You are not dreaming,” Childermass smiled. “Or if you are, so am I. And when you wake, my words will still be true.” 

“It is just…” Segundus muttered, frowning despite himself, “Levy suggested… It led me to believe that perhaps the reason I was not affected by the spell when I woke and saw you was that… that I was already in love with you.” 

A frown snuck of Childermass’ brow, something fierce sparking in his eye. 

“And who is it that Levy is in love with that he came to such a conclusion?” 

“Oh, uh…” Segundus had, admittedly, not expected such a question. “Well, uh… Hadley-Bright.” 

“Fuck!” Childermass burst out the word on a sudden bark of laughter, his frown disappeared as quickly as it had formed. “The poor man! _Hadley-Bright!_ ” 

“That is not very charitable of you,” Segundus replied with what he hoped was a withering look in defence of his – admittedly very particular – tutor. “Hadley-Bright is a handsome and clever fellow. Levy could have… he could have done much worse.” 

“He could have done much better, too.” 

“John!” 

“Well, in any case,” Childermass mused, nuzzling Segundus’ cheek affectionately, “Levy’s assumption was wrong. I can tell you frankly that that cannot have been the reason.” 

“Oh?” Segundus smiled, feeling light-headed and pleasantly drowsy, and leaning into the kiss Childermass was pressing to his temple. “So that book over there… was your attempt at courtship?” 

“Yes, well,” Childermass chuckled when Segundus rested his head against his shoulder. “Had I known you were so keen on floral poetry, I’d have adapted my approach.” 

“You’d have _caressed my leaves with the nurturing raindrops of your devotion?_ ” 

Childermass tightened his arm around Segundus’ back and tilted his head so he could whisper in his ear, “I’d have plucked you with the gentlest care.” When he saw how Segundus, despite the flush on his cheeks, struggled to respond for fighting a yawn, he added, a smile in his voice, “After you woke up from a good night’s sleep. Or morning’s sleep. Come on...” 

Coaxing Segundus away from the door and back towards the bed, he had his waistcoat unbuttoned and off before Segundus could protest that they were in Childermass’ room and what would the servants think…! 

“Nothing. We shall lock the door, and do naught but sleep, my dear.” 

Despite his weak protests, the exertions of the night had now truly caught up with Segundus, and he was quite unable to do anything other than let himself be undressed and softly tipped into bed, where he found himself tucked into Childermass’ side only a handful of moments later. 

Outside sparrows and tits were picking up their cheerful melody as the sun snuck up over the horizon, while inside, all Segundus heard was the beat of Childermass’ heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8A point that Segundus went on to emphasise frequently in several private letters to John Childermass in the months and years to come, to seemingly no lasting effect on Childermass, who seems to have enjoyed alluding to this particular statement.[return to text]
> 
> 9Of all the people involved in the incident, Henry Purfois was the only one to steadfastly deny any and all memories of the night for the rest of his life and never make mention of it in conversation or in writing, omitting any note or comment even in his meticulously kept journals that have otherwise been considered a very frank and uncensored account of his private experience at Starecross. Whether this alleged amnesia was true and due to the extremely heavy dosage of the fairy pollen he inhaled, or merely a polite face-saving manoeuvre to spare himself and everyone else the embarrassment of the memory, remains unclear to this day. [return to text]


End file.
